Chapter 151: The World's Most Dramatic Flu Patient

Chapter 151: The World's Most Dramatic Flu Patient

The next morning, Ruby and I found ourselves standing outside Elliot's apartment armed with exactly three things: a giant box of tissues, a bag full of cold medicine, and the overwhelming certainty that this visit was somehow going to become our problem. Elliot had texted us shortly after sunrise with a message so dramatic it deserved its own theatrical performance: "I hope you're both happy. I'm dying." Naturally, neither of us believed him. Unfortunately, the moment Ruby unlocked the apartment door with the spare key Elliot had reluctantly given her months ago "for emergencies only," we were greeted by the unmistakable sound of someone coughing like a nineteenth-century novelist trying to create emotional tension. The living room looked as though a pharmacy and a tornado had signed a business partnership. Tissue boxes occupied every available surface. Half-empty mugs of tea surrounded the sofa. Medicine bottles formed an impressive little army across the coffee table. A blanket fortress had been constructed around one end of the couch, and somewhere beneath it lay Elliot, looking less like a successful editor and more like a Victorian aristocrat composing his final will. The second he spotted us, he slowly raised one trembling finger toward us with all the dramatic energy his fever could still produce. "...There," he croaked. "...The criminals have arrived."

Without saying a word, I walked over and placed the new box of tissues on the coffee table beside him. Ruby set the medicine bag next to it before taking one long look at Elliot's appearance. His hair pointed in at least six different directions, his nose was bright red, and he had wrapped himself in two blankets despite the apartment being warm enough to roast vegetables. Ruby blinked twice. "Good grief." She pointed directly at him. "You look like someone lost a fight with winter." Elliot sniffed miserably. "I did." Ruby looked around the apartment. "You've made... whatever this is." She gestured toward the blanket nest. "This," Elliot whispered dramatically, "is my recovery headquarters." Ruby leaned closer. "...It looks like you were attacked by a laundry basket." Elliot ignored her and instead fixed his bloodshot eyes on me. "Do you know what happened to me?" I looked at the tissues. Then at the tea. Then at the thermometer sticking out from under one of the cushions. "...The flu?" He gasped loudly enough to trigger another coughing fit. "No." Cough. "Betrayal." More coughing. "The flu was merely the consequence."

Ruby casually wandered into the kitchen and returned carrying the carton of orange juice she'd apparently left in his refrigerator three days ago. "Would anyone like breakfast while Elliot narrates his own documentary?" she asked cheerfully. Elliot pointed accusingly at both of us. "Yesterday..." Another sniff. "...while the two of you vanished off the face of Manhattan..." He paused dramatically to blow his nose with enough force to frighten a decorative plant. "...I spent THREE HOURS searching for you!" Ruby slowly lowered the orange juice. "Three hours?" "Three." He held up three shaky fingers. "Entire." Another cough. "Hours." He glared directly at me. "I called you fourteen times." Then he glared at Ruby. "You, eleven." Ruby raised one finger. "My phone died." Elliot nodded solemnly. "Convenient." Then his gaze returned to me. "And your excuse?" I shifted awkwardly. "...I forgot to charge mine." Elliot slowly closed his eyes. "Outstanding." He looked toward the ceiling as though appealing to a higher power. "One dead battery. One dead phone. Meanwhile, I was wandering through Midtown during a rainstorm looking for two adults who apparently evaporated."

He pushed himself upright with the determination of a man climbing a mountain despite clearly regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. "Do you know where I looked?" he demanded. Ruby shook her head. Elliot immediately began counting on his fingers. "Your apartment." He pointed at me. "Ruby's apartment." He pointed at her. "The café where you two conduct ninety percent of your terrible ideas." Ruby frowned. "They're excellent terrible ideas." Elliot continued as though she hadn't spoken. "The bookstore." Another finger. "The subway station." Another. "I even called three hospitals!" My eyes widened. "Hospitals?" "YES!" he shouted before immediately dissolving into another coughing attack. Ruby patiently handed him a glass of water. He drank dramatically before continuing. "Do you have any idea how many crime documentaries begin with 'She was last seen leaving a coffee shop'?" Ruby burst into laughter. "You watch far too many documentaries." Elliot looked deeply offended. "I watch an educational amount." Ruby laughed even harder. "Educational?" "Absolutely." He sneezed violently. "...They're teaching me trust issues."

He collapsed back into the mountain of blankets with a miserable groan. "And after searching in the rain for THREE HOURS..." He pointed weakly toward the window. "...I walked home." Ruby nodded sympathetically. "That sounds awful." "Awful?" Elliot repeated in disbelief. "The rain wasn't falling." He pointed dramatically toward the ceiling. "It was attacking." Another gesture. "The wind stole my umbrella." Ruby blinked. "...Your umbrella?" "No!" Elliot shouted. "Some stranger's umbrella!" Ruby immediately covered her mouth to stop herself laughing. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it nearly hurt. Elliot noticed anyway. "You're laughing." Ruby shook her head innocently. "No." "You absolutely are." "I'm supporting you internally." He stared at both of us with profound disappointment. "I've been abandoned by my closest friends." Ruby quietly reached over and tucked the blanket back around his shoulders. "We're literally here taking care of you." Elliot considered that for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "...That's fair." Then he sneezed again. "...But you're still paying for my emotional damages."

I disappeared into the kitchen to make him fresh ginger tea while Ruby organized the alarming collection of medicine bottles covering the coffee table. "Why do you own seven different cold medicines?" she called out. Elliot answered from beneath the blankets. "Those represent the stages of false hope." Ruby picked up one bottle. "This one expired." "That's my emergency medicine." "It expired two years ago!" "So have I." I accidentally laughed loud enough for both of them to hear. Elliot immediately pointed triumphantly toward the kitchen. "HA! She admits guilt!" I walked back into the living room carrying the steaming mug of tea. "How exactly does laughing prove guilt?" Elliot accepted the mug with the solemn gratitude of a man receiving life-saving treatment. "Healthy people don't laugh at sick people." Ruby raised an eyebrow. "Healthy people absolutely laugh at you." Elliot took one careful sip before pointing dramatically at both of us over the rim of his mug. "You're hiding something about last night." Ruby and I answered so quickly it was almost frightening. "No, we're not." Elliot narrowed his feverish eyes. "...That was disturbingly synchronized." Ruby smiled innocently. "Coincidence." Elliot took another sip, studied us both for a long moment, then muttered, "I'm running a fever... not running out of brain cells." Seconds later, he sneezed so violently that the blanket slid off the sofa, his tea nearly spilled into his lap, and Ruby calmly reached over to pull the blanket back up without missing a beat. "See?" she said. "You're definitely not dying. You're far too dramatic."

The apartment had finally settled into an unusual rhythm. Elliot was wrapped in three blankets on the couch, looking as though he had personally invented suffering, while Ruby had somehow taken over his kitchen without permission and was now making chicken soup despite openly admitting she had never successfully cooked soup before. Elliot watched her every movement with the horrified expression of a man witnessing his insurance premiums increase in real time. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked weakly. Ruby didn't even turn around. "Absolutely." Elliot sniffled. "You just put garlic in before the onions." "They're making friends." "Ingredients don't make friends." "Not with that attitude." I laughed quietly, shaking my head as I reached for another tissue box to place within Elliot's dramatic arm's reach. He accepted it with the solemn gratitude of a man receiving emergency medical treatment. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. "Finally... someone in this apartment loves me." Ruby looked over her shoulder. "Don't get emotional. She just doesn't want you wiping your nose on the blanket again." Elliot looked genuinely offended. "...That happened once." "Twice," Ruby corrected. "The blanket remembers."

Before Elliot could launch a formal defense of his blanket-related reputation, my phone suddenly buzzed inside my tote bag resting beside the sofa. The sound was soft, but somehow it immediately caught my attention. Without thinking, I reached into the bag and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with a single new message. Grayson. My heartbeat skipped so unexpectedly that I almost dropped the phone onto Elliot's coffee table. For a split second, everything around me faded into the background. I didn't hear Elliot complaining about the soup anymore. I didn't hear Ruby insisting that garlic possessed emotional intelligence. All I saw was his name. Before I could stop myself, a small smile spread across my face—completely automatic, completely uninvited. It wasn't a polite smile. It wasn't even a particularly logical one. It simply... happened. My thumb quickly unlocked the screen. 

Grayson Hale: Good morning. I hope you made it home safely last night. When you have time, call me. 

That was it. Short. Simple. Perfectly normal. Yet somehow those fourteen words managed to brighten my entire morning with alarming efficiency.

"...Well."

Elliot's raspy voice cut straight through my thoughts.

"...Who was that?"

I looked up so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash.

"What?"

"The smile."

Ruby had abandoned the soup entirely and was now leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms folded, watching me with unmistakable interest.

"What smile?" I asked a little too quickly.

"The one currently occupying your entire face," Ruby replied.

"I don't have a smile."

"You absolutely have a smile," Elliot croaked dramatically.

Ruby nodded.

"I've known you for years."

"So have I," Elliot added.

"Neither of us has ever seen you smile at a phone like that."

I immediately looked down at the screen again.

The smile disappeared.

"There," I said triumphantly.

"It's gone."

Ruby blinked.

"...Because we mentioned it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Elliot narrowed his feverish eyes.

"I may have influenza..."

He pointed dramatically toward me.

"...but my eyesight still works."

Both of them were now staring at me with identical expressions.

It was deeply unsettling.

Ruby broke the silence first.

"So..."

She tilted her head innocently.

"Who texted you?"

My brain immediately entered emergency evacuation mode.

Think.

Think faster.

Think much faster.

Because there was absolutely no chance I was explaining that Grayson Hale had just texted me asking me to call him.

Not while Ruby possessed the investigative instincts of a federal detective.

And certainly not while Elliot, despite running a fever hot enough to boil water, remained professionally nosy.

The first lie that entered my head escaped before common sense could stop it.

"...Aunt Helena."

Ruby blinked once.

Elliot blinked twice.

"...Your Aunt Helena?" Ruby repeated slowly.

I nodded with far more confidence than I actually felt.

"Yes."

"The same Aunt Helena?"

"...I only have one."

Ruby exchanged a glance with Elliot.

Neither of them looked convinced.

"What does she want?" Elliot asked suspiciously.

I looked back down at my phone for approximately half a second, pretending to reread the message as though it somehow contained details about my entirely fictional explanation.

Then inspiration struck.

"...She's having another crisis."

Ruby sighed dramatically.

"Oh no."

Elliot rubbed his forehead.

"...What kind of crisis this time?"

I answered without missing a beat.

"Matchmaking."

Ruby closed her eyes.

"...Of course."

"Apparently," I continued, becoming increasingly committed to the performance, "one couple she introduced has decided they aren't speaking to each other anymore."

Elliot nodded weakly.

"That's unfortunate."

"So now she's trying to convince them they're soulmates."

Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Again?"

I shrugged.

"According to her..."

I adopted my aunt's dramatic tone surprisingly well.

"'Love is like homemade jam. Sometimes you simply have to shake the jar aggressively before it spreads properly.'"

Silence.

Ruby slowly looked at Elliot.

Elliot slowly looked at Ruby.

Finally, Elliot whispered, "...

That... actually sounds exactly like your aunt."

"I know," I replied with a completely straight face.

Ruby sighed the sigh of a woman who had survived far too many encounters with Aunt Helena.

"Go call her."

"You sure?"

Ruby pointed toward the hallway.

"If we don't let your aunt save fictional romances for at least twenty minutes..."

She shuddered dramatically.

"...she'll probably come here."

Elliot immediately sat up beneath his blankets.

"No."

Ruby nodded gravely.

"Exactly."

Elliot pointed urgently toward the hallway.

"Go."

"Right now."

"Save the innocent couple."

"And more importantly..."

He sneezed violently before finishing.

"...save us."

Trying very hard not to laugh—or look at Grayson's message again—I slipped my phone into my pocket and hurried toward the hallway.

The moment I disappeared around the corner, I unlocked the screen again.

My smile returned before I could stop it.

"...I'm definitely going to hell for blaming Aunt Helena," I whispered to myself.

Then I pressed the call button beneath Grayson's name.